Outcast
pitiless
pariah
crawling on my knees,
beating my breast
moaning
" mea culpa."
The crowd would love that-
a spectacle.
( or if not love, tolerate.)
But no,
instead I'll climb
to the highest pinnacle
and cry,
Freedom!
Waving the flag
that is my poetry
proud,
defiant,
not loved
not even tolerated.